Cerulean Fire
by DesireeStorms
Summary: "I have seen Hell, and I have dreamed of Heaven. This place is neither." A young woman finds herself press ganged to the Dutchman for unclear reasons. At first, she sees nothing but the damned, but she soon finds herself tangled in a twist of fate, and she must choose whether to follow her heart or her head. Her tension with the first mate only puts another obstacle in her path.
1. Press Ganged

**FULL SUMMARY: ** "I have seen Hell, and I have dreamed of Heaven. This place is neither." A young woman finds herself press ganged to the Dutchman for reasons that aren't quite clear to her. At first, she sees nothing but damned souls and faces, and most of them are no more eager to have her around than she them. Her tension with the first mate only puts another obstacle in her path. However, she soon discovers kindness can exist even on the Dutchman, and as she learns more about this estranged crew she soon she finds herself tangled in a twist of fate. So when she is presented with the chance of freedom, she must choose whether to follow her heart or her head.

* * *

 **Chapter #1: Press Ganged**

* * *

Faint traced of light had slowly begun to ebb back into her barely conscious mind, pushing her back towards wakefulness at an agonizing pace. She could still smell it, the reeking odor that had emitted from above deck, flooding her already overwhelmed senses with the smell of decaying flesh. Vaguely, she was aware of a hand shaking her by the shoulder, but her body was lagging behind her mind, a quiet moan escaping through her lips.

It was then that everything returned in a violent wave. The ship had given a vicious lurch, sending her rolling gracelessly across the floor of her cell as she was knocked clear off her feet. Screams of terror had followed shortly after, echoing above her with the heavy, frantic footsteps of the crew as they ran about on deck. Before she had been able to so much as consider the cause of their panic, however, the ship had given another horrible jerk, the deafening sound of splintering wood and cannon fire reaching her ears, vibrating the entire vessel. That was when the odor had hit her senses. It was by far the most rancid stench she had ever encountered, and the last thing she had known before another abrupt lurch sent her sprawling once more, knocking her head hard against the bench, was the long, slimy appendage that had came slithering down the stairs.

 _The Kraken._

It was only now, as she regained her senses, that she realized she had been knocked out, and the eerie silence that followed was not comforting in the slightest. The only sounds she could detect were the sound of occasional footsteps above her, and the muffled voice that seemed to be calling to her. _Lass_ , it was saying.

"Lass. Oi!"

Emitting another low moan, she finally found the strength to open her eyes. At first, her vision was hazy, but she was able to make out the blurred figure of a man knelt above her. He appeared to be wearing a pointed hat of sorts, but as her sight cleared she had frozen solid as she realized he was not wearing a hat. That was his _head_. She was staring into the face of a man—but oh, no—this was no man. Half his face had been encased in what she realized was a giant conch shell, barnacles flecking his body among other arrays of sea life. _What the BLOODY HELL?!_

Before she realizes her own actions, her fist was launching upwards, reflexes kicking in on sheer instinct. The attack had been out of blind shock, but she managed to hit her mark, nailing him point blank in the face. To her horror, his head flew clear off his shoulders, landing on the floor beside him.

"Ayy-ahh!" he shouted. _Shouted. How was it still speaking?!_

She froze, watching in poorly concealed horror as the head continued to speak, and as if that wasn't bizarre enough the body had risen to its feet, stumbling across the cell in search for the head that was calling to it. Having stumbled back against the far corner, she had visibly bristled as the body drew dangerously close to her, groping the air blindly, and the head's expression flashed with fleeting alarm.

"No, no, watch out—!"

Pressing her hands and back against the wall, she had sent both of her feet kicking straight into the body's chest, sending it to a rough landing on its back for a second time. Presented with precious opportunity, she leapt over the body and ran through the open door of the cell, but she was stopped short in her tracks by a deep voice at the top of the stairs.

"Hadras, what the ruddy hell are ye doin' down 'ere—" The figure had stopped at the bottom of the steps when he saw her, momentary shock stamping across his barnacle-encrusted features. The one eye not covered in barnacles stared at her in poorly concealed surprise, when, all of a sudden, a huge grin was plastering itself on his face, as a deep laugh rang through the air. "Get a look at this, lads! Hadras found 'imself a lil' sea sprite!"

"Lil' sea sprite my rear end," a voice grumbled, causing her to whip around. The shell-headed man had managed to reattach his head to his body and was now glaring at her bitterly from the doorway of the cell. "She took my head clean off!"

"As if it's hard ta do!" the other laughed. "An infant could do it!"

"Shut yer trap!"

Despite the other—Hadras, was it?—being behind her, he found herself backing up as the other descended the stairs, still grinning. He was much bigger. It was when they took a simultaneous step towards her that her senses began to clear, reminding her that she was not helpless—that she was not a damsel in distress.

Her eyes flashed something fierce.

Up on the shattered deck, heads had turned in unison at a loud shout, as Clanker came staggering onto the deck as if driven outwards by sheer force, and his back made solid, clumsy contact with the deck. In the same instant, Hadras' head came flying out behind him, emitting a lengthy yell before it came to a rolling, skipping halt across the soggy boards. However, when a young woman stepped into view where they thought would be a man, needless to say they were a bit more than surprised.

She had frozen upon seeing them all standing about the deck, staring back at her with bewildered eyes—or, in some cases, various forms of tendrils and other grotesquely inhuman features. For a brief moment, she thought she had died and woken up in Hell, staring in poorly hidden horror. Another cackle rose from the monstrous crew, and a voice shouted loud and clear for all to hear:

"Lookie what Clanker an' Hadras found, boys!"

Darkened chuckles reached her ears, mouths curving into disgusting smiles as they began to draw in around her. She tensed, when her eyes shifted down as she saw the crewman named—Clanker?—getting to his feet. Without hesitating, she kicked him hard across the face with a heeled boot, sending him sprawling once more, much to the demonic crew's surprise.

"Get 'er!"

Her eyes lit aflame as she stepped onto her foe's back, using it to vault herself upwards, and grabbed onto a rope that hung overhead. Throwing her weight forward, she useded it to haul up and swing her form over the heads of the crewmen charging at her. Their heads had followed her as she glided above them, before her feet planted themselves firmly on the chest of one towards the back of the group, knocking him flat on his back with impact. Pulling out the knife she hid in her bodice, she whipped it forward into the neck of a crewman who appeared more like a mass of muscles and kelp than he did a human man, seaweed hanging from his body and arms like a nautical cloak, and he lurched back with a strangled cry. Swallowing her disgust, she threw herself at him, arm hooking around his neck and throwing him to the ground. She had used his body for support mid-fall, as she kicked both legs up straight into the chest of another and sent him slamming back against the wall, and with a combination of hand-to-hand techniques, she took out a third, grabbing the back of his head and slamming it against a mast when he drew his sword on her.

"We got a feisty one on our hands, boys!"

She managed to hold her own at first, but her head had begun to swim due to the hard hit it had taken when she'd hit it in the brig, and to her greater shock, the crewmen she had taken down had already gotten back up—even the one she had sent her knife into. She had watched with widened, horrified eyes as he ripped the blade from his throat with a snarl of pain, monstrous face seeming to twist with rage despite being incapable of human expression. Like the undead, they continued to spring back from her attacks, leering at her with what had turned into sadistic amusement. They were laughing at her.

"Wench has spirit!"

"Not for long!"

She suddenly paused when she felt a presence behind her. Whipping about, she punched out of reflex—only to release a sharp cry of pain as she was met with sharpened—were those _quills_ covering his face?!. Clutching her hand, she stumbled back, eyes wide as she stared at him. He looked to be morphed with a puffer fish, right eye bulging as his spiked cheek puffed outward in his anger at the hit, yet he appeared grimly amused at the same time.

"In a bit over yer head, aren't ye, missy?" he leered.

Before she could so much as even think up a response, she felt a dull object hit her hard in the back of the head, and that was the last thing she remembered before slumping to the deck at his feet.

When she had awoken from her daze, she'd been shoved to her knees and was now staring up at the mutated faces around her. What remained of the men she had been sailing with were lined up alongside her, five in total aside from her. It had occurred to her exactly what they were dealing with the moment she had seen the gigantic tentacle slithering towards her, and she wondered briefly how she had managed to survive. There was only one man she could think of who could have sent such a beast to do his bidding. Up until that night, they had been mere stories—bedtime horror tales told by superstitious sailors. If this was really the crew of Davy Jones, then the ship poised next to the wreckage had to be none other than the _Flying Dutchman_.

Despite herself, she found herself shaking her head slowly. The _Flying Dutchman_. Dear God, what had she gotten herself into this time?

However, no one had ever made any mention of hellish sea-encrusted monsters crewing it. Each and every one of them had become engulfed by the sea as if becoming it, small shells, tendrils, barnacles, and other forms of sea life embedded into their bodies like a grotesque mosaic; mutating them all into something unrecognizable as human men. Her eyes strayed to the one who vaguely resembled a puffer fish, and she felt her hand prickle with pain. It had bled from the tiny puncture wounds left by the protruding spikes, and she had no doubt some of her blood was still smeared on his face; though, she doubted he'd bothered to clean it off. She doubted any of these creatures flinched at the sight or sensation of blood, likely viewing it as a mark of honor—savage warriors of the sea.

Bright, hazel-green eyes darted to the one who had made to grab her in the hold, standing beside the conch shell crewman. What was his name, again? Clanker? His solid build made her wonder just how she had managed to shove him back such a distance, drawing it down to the overload of adrenaline that had been flooding her veins, heightening her senses and strength as her fight or flight instinct kicked in. From beneath his hat hung strands of seaweed in place of hair down to his shoulders, a pair of metal chain-shot hanging at his hips, clinking with every heavy movement he made. Out of all the crewmen, however, there was one who seemed to stand out from the rest. Perhaps it was the way he stood amongst the others, rigid and radiating authority—or perhaps it was in the way his skull had mutated into the two protruding ends of a hammerhead shark. His eyes were the coldest she'd ever seen, scanning over his surroundings with an icy vigilance, a piercing cerulean. They went well with his skin, which had taken on the slate gray of the shark he resembled. Encasing his left arm was what resembled a lobster gauntlet, and in the other he gripped a sharpened ax, its blade stained red with crimson blood.

Beside her, her fellow crew—though, she hardly considered them as such—trembled like leaves whilst emitting pathetic gasps and whimpers, barely holding their composure in the presence of the damned crewman gathered around and behind them. Only one of the five men bothered to hold up a facade of well-practiced determination, and the show of resilience might have been impressive had he actually been able to keep his eyes on a single crewman for more than a couple seconds, not daring to linger for too long. It wouldn't take much to break the act when confronted by one of their captors, or, God forbid, Jones himself. Speaking of which, where was the famed captain? She knew none of the crewman standing before her were him, but she was in no particular rush to meet him, either. The man beside her leaned in then, speaking in a hushed, sharp whisper to her ear.

"You keep yer trap shut, you hear? One word outta you, wench, and—"

"Quiet, maggot!" a voice barked from behind. "Lest ye want yer tongue severed!"

He was sent down by a vicious blow to the head, and she found herself forcing back the urge to smirk, relishing silently in his humiliation and pain. Instead, she kept her eyes focused on the splintered wood beneath her, shifting her wrists against the coarse rope binding them in attempt to find any sort of give, but there was none. That was when she heard it.

 _Thunk._

Her head lifted.

 _Thunk._

The deck fell silent as another dull thunk followed, growing louder and louder until she could feel the deck vibrate beneath her protesting shins, and then finally a figure emerged, hulking and just as monstrous as the rest. Her eyes scanned over the face of the captain whose name struck terror through the hearts of even the most fearless of sailors, a glorious bears of writhing tentacles hanging down and over a broad chest and equally broad shoulders. His head in general held a striking resemblance to an octopus, as if it had sat itself right upon his shoulders.

A voice broke through the silence, one she did not recognize, and upon glancing she saw it was the hammerheaded crewman. "Six still alive. The rest have moved on." His voice was as cold as his eyes, gruff and stiff and indifferent to the bleeding and terrified men all but soiling themselves at his feet.

The captain, Captain Davy Jones, turned his ghostly blue eyes upon the line coolly, eyeing them with no specific interest; though, when he spoke, his voice echoed authority and demanded answer, deep and laced with a thick Scottish accent. "Who among you do you name as Captain-uh?"

The whimpers and panicked breathing around her resumed with renewed panic to the point where she could almost feel the trembling figure knelt to her right. When no answer was offered, the captain's beard actually writhed with rapidly rising impatience, and there was another audible _thunk_ as he took a deliberate step closer. Upon looking down, she realized that the sound was not coming from a peg leg, but rather his entire leg had mutated into that of a crab's, the sharpened end creating a split in the wood as it landed.

"I _said_ , who among you be named Captain?"

He had bent down to lean ominously in the face of one of the trembling crewmen, and the man, who had barely been holding himself upright before, was now all but collapsing from how violently he was shaking. She almost took pity on him. Almost. However, refusing an answer would only further anger Jones, so, swallowing her nerves, she dared to speak—if for her own sake. She had seen said captain splayed on the deck amongst the bodies of the rest of the crew who had not been lucky enough to escape the Kraken's wrath.

"The captain is dead."

His head had snapped sharply in her direction, and despite his piercing gaze she had managed to keep her voice even, loud enough for him to hear over the other men's pathetic sniveling, but a female voice amongst a dominantly male environment would cause any head to turn, and she'd just caught the attention of the oceanic equivalent of the Devil.

He straightened, the building anger that had been forming with his question going unanswered disappearing to be replaced with a combination of surprise and intrigue. With an audible _thunk-thunk_ , he stepped over to where she knelt, leaning in slowly. "Dead, ye say?"

Though his tone was soft and calm, only a fool wouldn't detect the danger that lurked beneath thin layers. Nevertheless, her eyes remained locked with his, but not disrespectfully so. "The captain has passed on, sir."

Frigid eyes scanned over her soaked form, eyeing the way her clothes stuck to her skin, and the trickle of crimson that still leaked from her lip, down her jaw, and to her collarbone. "What business have ye aboard this vessel, missy?"

She answered without hesitation, keeping her tone calm and collected. "I was taken prisoner, sir. These men and their captain attacked the ship I was on. When I killed one of them after they tried taking advantage, I was locked in the brig."

His hairless brow rose, almost mocking. "So if I were to kill these men... slit their throats right before ye?"

Her expression remained stoic. "Then I'd say something good came of this night, after all."

The intrigue had returned, brow raising in surprise.

"You _bitch_!"

It happened within the blink of an eye, as Jones' head made a sharp turn to the offending voice, beard whipping with the motion, and then his arm was shooting forward; though, it wasn't an arm, but a huge crab claw that he seized the man's throat with, causing his eyes to fly wide as his wind pipe was all but crushed. "I do not believe your commentary was invited-uh," he stated coolly, but, again, only a fool would mistake it for calmness. After watching the panicked man struggle for breath for a few more moments, he released his hold on his neck and turned back to her once more as the crewman sucked in a ragged breath. "Tell me. What do ye make o' yer captors, Miss...?"

"Storms, sir," she replied, a bit reluctantly. Her gaze shifted to the men knelt to her right once again. A couple of them glared at her in silent threat, but it was a futile attempt at intimidation. They were powerless to do anything more to her, and as she studied their disdainful and malicious faces what little sympathy she may have had for them dissipated into nothing. Green eyes met ice blue, confidence rising with each word she spoke. "If it is men you are looking for, sir... you will be disappointed with these sailors, for they are no more men than they are warriors. Their bodies may be strong, but their spirits weak... souls... weak. They would not last a day on a vessel such as the _Flying Dutchman_."

His brow rose for what felt like the hundredth time, perhaps in surprise at the simple fact she had named his ship without being told of its identity, or maybe because she was a woman, and he was merely taken aback by the merciless reply. Then, all at once, the intrigue was transforming, twisting into a grin that could only be described as sadistic satisfaction, traces of amusement still lingering in its wake, and then he was straightening and meeting the gazes of his crew.

"The lady has spoken-uh," he said slyly, earning a few cruel sniggers in return. Turning, he faced the crewman standing at rigid attention behind him, the man with the hammerhead. "To the depths."

It was a gruesomely grim sight to behold, as they descended upon her terrified captors with malicious cackles and malformed faces. She watched with impassive, and perhaps even satisfied, eyes as hatchets rose above the helpless sailors' heads, and with five singularly downward strokes, all five men had slumped to the deck lifelessly, their blood spilling across the weathered planks through split open craniums. They barely touched the deck for two seconds before being hauled up by the crewmen and unceremoniously tossed overboard into the abyss.

 _Thunk._

 _Thunk._

Her head turned upwards as Jones resumed his spot standing before her, staring down at her as if she were an unsolved anonymity. He seemed to consider her a moment, shifting a bit in his stance, and then he simply commanded, "Rise-uh."

Knowing better than to argue at that moment, she obeyed, rising to a more dignified stance, and with a single nod from Jones the crewman that had been standing behind her stepped forward and sliced her wrists free. She calmly allowed her arms to rest back at her sides, ignoring the soreness where the rope had rubbed the skin raw, and focused on maintaining eye contact with the fearsome captain. It was hard to tell if it was amusement or impression she detected in his gaze as he looked her over, examining the way she stood straight and fearless despite the horrific crew surrounding her at all sides—despite the fact she was standing face-to-face with _him_.

"There is something about you..." He had begun to circle her now, slowly and with careful calculation. "No average mortal would be able to see it... but I am no average man-uh."

It took every ounce of self control to refrain from turning with him, keeping her eyes straight forward as she listened to the telltale thudding of his crab leg hitting the deck.

"Tell me, lass... can ye man a ship-uh?"

 _You mean your ship._ "Yes, sir."

"Can ye now?"

Taunting snickers arose from the crew, making her blood simmer.

"Can ye fight-uh?"

At this, she finally mustered the nerve to look him in the eye, turning her head just as he was rounding her left side, and a tiny but sly smile made its way onto her full lips. "Why don't you ask your men?" Nodding her head, she gestured to where chain-shot and the conch-shelled man stood, and their expressions grew bitter and resentful at her boldness.

Though, in Jones' case, the intrigue had returned to his eyes tenfold, and he even smiled, this time in genuine amusement, however dark it may have been. He straightened, then. "Well, then, Miss Storms... it seems to be ye've been presented with a choice-uh." He leaned in a bit. "Tell me... do ye fear death-uh?"

She found herself answering before she could stop. "Death, like many things, is a world vastly unknown to all those still among the living... and so people fear it. They fear what they do not know." She fought to stay calm. "I cannot say I fear death... nor can I say I am eager to face it. I've always viewed it as a new start, sir. Just another uncharted land waiting to be discovered."

If he hadn't been curious of her before, she certainly had his attention now. Truthfully, she was stalling. If there was, perhaps, any way she could avoid an ax to the head, she would take it, but that meant joining this godforsaken crew. In time, she could figure out an escape plan, but would Jones even consider such a thing? To allow a woman onto his beloved hell ship? It hardly seemed plausible, but the utter fascination she saw in his eyes was telling her different.

Maybe she had a chance, here.

"Lock her in the brig," said Jones suddenly. "This one has caught my interest-uh."

Her genuine shock seemed to be mirrored in the eyes of the crew, exchanging incredulous glances with each other, but none of them dared question their captain's authority. Behind her, she felt a hand roughly seize her by the arm, and the next thing she knew she was being hit hard in the back of the head, and everything fell black once again.


	2. Swab

**TheAmazingMaya:** Glad to hear you like it! I hope to continue to please.

 **Nice:** Thank you! It's always nice to hear one's story feels unique. Hope to hear from you in future chapters!

* * *

 **Chapter #2: Swab**

* * *

Ahe awoke to the sound of booted footsteps running at a hurried pace above her head, and upon opening her eyes she was staring up at floorboards, streaks of daylight seeping through in soft streams. She could hear someone barking orders above deck, the creaking and groaning of a ship moving along the waves being nothing alien to her ears. As for the crew that manned her; that was an entirely different story.

As she recalled the horrors of the previous night, her mind began processing everything around her out of spontaneous effect, taking in the smell of salt absorbed deeply within the aged wood; the sea life that seemed to have overtaken every available surface, the dampness in the air...

Sitting up, she looked about the cell where she had been unceremoniously dumped by the hammerhead man, eyeing the barnacles and shells that bejeweled the walls like unpolished gems. Here and there, a little crab scurried across the floor or up the walls, seeking shelter from hungry eyes. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers gently along a feather anemone that stuck out from the oceanic mosaic, pulling back when it retracted into its column upon her touch. Just when she found herself free from the brig of that damned ship, here she was again in the same situation with her new captors. At least none of these crewman had attempted to take advantage—yet.

Her head suddenly snapped upward at the sound of booted footsteps descending the stairs, heading in her direction. Swiftly, she stood, muscles tensing as she readied herself for potential confrontation, and when she recognized the barnacle-encrusted face of the chain-shot crewman, her upper lip had curled into a sneer.

"Easy now." He raised his hands in a sign of peace at seeing the fire illuminating her eyes. "Not lookin' for another fight, ye hellcat."

Her eyes narrowed at him in suspicion as he moved closer to the bars, and it was only then she saw he held something wrapped loosely in cloth in his large hands. Unfolding the tattered fabric, he reached through the bars and offered it to her, the chains hanging at his hips clinking with the action.

She didn't move right away, not so much as looking at the offered what she guessed was food, keeping her eyes solidly locked with his.

"Look, I don't 'ave ta feed ye, ye know. Consider it a peace offerin'."

What would a man like him want peace with her for? Squinting at him the slightest bit, she finally took a slow step forward—but not close enough for him to reach her—and glanced down at the object lying in his palm. After brief inspection, she realized it was a decently large piece of dried fish—haddock, she guessed. Her eyes met his once more, taking note of the sea blue coloration the one uncovered by barnacles displayed. Despite the fact she hardly trusted him, her stomach snarled at her in protest when she so much as thought about rejecting the meal. Why would he want to feed her after their little skirmish the previous night? However, she hadn't eaten in days, and if she didn't get something into her system soon her body would only begin to fail her, and that was not something she could afford—especially aboard a ship such as the _Flying Dutchman_. So, slowly, she reached forward and accepted the piece of fish, watching as he nodded as if praising a small child before pulling his hand back through the bars once more.

"So, what's a young lass like ye doin' on these waters?"

Her eyes narrowed at him, offering no answer to his question. If anything, he appeared amused by her silence.

"Ah, don't tell me yer still sore 'bout last night? Didn't mean no harm by the things said... an' ye don't 'ave to worry about Hadras. 'E's the one whose head ye hurled across the deck, in case ye were wonderin'." A small smirk had come to tug at his lips at the memory. "Don't be thinkin' yer the first one to do that, either. It's not often we run into a woman who can hold 'er own against us... In fact, I don't think we've ever encountered it. Maybe that's why the cap'n chose to keep ye." He shrugged.

She regarded him closely in wonder. It was a moment before she spoke, but when she did her suspicion clearly expressed itself in her voice. "Why offer charity to me? A woman who showed you up before your entire crew."

A hearty laugh left him at these words, deep and reverberating throughout the entire room. "I wasn't the only one who ye showed up, lass. Besides, ye took me off guard is all. Didn't expect a little thing like yerself to pull such a stunt is all."

She quirked a wry eyebrow at him.

"Ye best eat up bef're the cap'n or first mate decide to take the chance away. Ye'll be wantin' to keep yer strength up on this ship."

She looked back down at the fish in her hands after another few breaths, hesitating at the thought that it could be tainted, but if killing her was their immediate plan they likely wouldn't do it via poison. So, after scrutinizing it for a while longer, she finally lifted it to her mouth and tore a piece off with her teeth, chewing slowly.

"Name's Clanker, by the way."

Her eyes had shifted to his hand as he stuck it through the bars, palm laid out for a handshake. Again, she made no immediate move, weighing her options carefully. Despite their first interaction, this Clanker fellow seemed harmless enough, but she knew better than to put her full trust into him. She didn't know him, and he most certainly didn't know her. If he was, in fact, a possible ally, however, it would be in her best interest to remain in his good graces. Ready to counteract at a second's notice, she finally allowed her smaller hand to gently rest in his open palm, and she felt him gently enclose his fingers around hers. It also hadn't escaped her attention how he seemed to smile when she accepted his touch. She couldn't imagine it happened often.

He did not pull her up against the bars. He did not grab her.

She allowed herself to relax the slightest bit.

"Ye got a name, lass?" he asked.

Silence was once again the answer he received.

"Ah, come on. What's the worst that could come o' knowin' yer name? 'Sides, don't ye wanna be called somethin' other than 'girl', 'wench', or 'lass'?"

Yet another moment of silence followed—one of many—as she stared at his face in a mixture of curiosity and caution. "...Adelria."

The upper tug at the corner of his mouth grew. "Suits ye. Last name's Storms, right?"

"...Yes."

A short nod. "So where'd ye learn ta fight like that, anyway? Not often ye come across a lass who can beat a man down with 'er bare fists."

"You ask a lot of questions for a stranger."

He laughed again. "Well, it ain't often I find myself in the presence of a woman such as yerself... or a woman, in general. Genuine conversation is rare 'round 'ere."

"If you want to talk, perhaps you can tell me what it is your captain wants from me."

"That, lass, is somethin' none o' us could tell ye. I don't think any o' us expected ye to make it off that ship."

Her eyes fell.

"I wouldn't question it, an' if 'e approaches ye, ye best make sure to answer 'im quickly an' respectfully if ye want to avoid meetin' the bosun and 'is whip."

Her face scrunched in momentary appall at his words. Crewmen were flogged aboard this vessel? What sort of medieval tub was she on?

"Well, if he wants to speak with me, then he mine as well get to it. Neither of us are getting anything done keeping me locked in here."

"Wouldn't count my blessings if I were ye." Giving her a meaningful look, he straightened. "I gotta get back to me duties before ol' Jimmylegs comes lookin'. I reckon we'll be seein' each other again soon enough." Pinching the front rim of his hat, he nodded to her respectfully and made his leave.

Adelria watched him go silently, eyes narrowing in his wake. She did not yet know whether or not she could trust him, but at least she finally had food. It was as she was finishing the last mouthful that another sound reached her ears.

 _Thunk._

She froze.

 _Thunk._

 _Thunk._

Her head had lifted towards the stairs, waiting for him to show up. Stepping back, she listened as he made his way across the deck above her, ears perking at someone's voice shouting _captain on deck!_ Closer and closer the sound drew, until his large shadow appeared at the top of the stairs, and he descended to the brig. Tailing him were two other crewmen, one she recognized as the hammerhead man, and the other resembled nothing of a human at all, his entire body constructed solely of vibrant orange and rust-colored coral with what looked like feathery tendrils for eyes.

Jones' eyes fixed upon her with little to no concern, but she knew better. He wouldn't have come down here if he wasn't interested in her, a thought that hardly came as a comfort. Having Davy Jones take interest in you was the equivalent of the Devil taking a liking to you.

"Enjoying your stay-uh?" he questioned smoothly.

Against her better judgment, she narrowed her eyes at him. He was playing games with her, and she didn't appreciate it one bit.

"I'm assuming you've kept me alive for a reason," she stated calmly, disregarding his question completely.

"You're to assume nothing, wench," spat the hammerhead man behind him, but Jones merely held up his crab claw arm for silence.

Adelria's eyes had shifted to send him a cool, indifferent glance before returning her attention to Jones, smirking inwardly at how it seemed to make him bristle. "Are you going to kill me or not?" she asked.

Faint amusement twinkled in his ocean blue eyes. "That all depends on what ye have to offer, lass," he replied in the same quiet tone, "on what ye have to offer me."

"I don't know what I could possibly have to offer you," she admitted, her blatant confusion making itself visible on her face. "I suspect it's not often you allow women onto your ship."

"No, indeed-uh."

She waited for him to continue.

"You see, lass... ye have a way about ye. There is something... _alien_ , might ye say... about ye."

She stopped. "Alien..."

"Aye. As you've likely guess, I am no ordinary man-uh. I can see what mortal man cannot, and I see something when I look at ye. What I want to know is what-uh."

"I couldn't tell you, sir," she replied honestly, now totally confused. "What is it you see, if you don't mind my asking?"

"There is an aura about ye, ye might say. All humans have it. It's how we know if someone is alive on a vessel the Kraken has destroyed-uh... but yers... It's stronger... brighter. That typically depicts power."

She was staring at him openly now. "Well, sir... I'm afraid I don't know what to tell you." Out of habit, her teeth gently caught her bottom lip. "You see... I can't remember anything from my early life. I was involved in an accident that left me with a permanent case of amnesia... However, I do not think I've forgotten anything that warrants being accused of inhuman traits."

A lengthy silence followed after her statement. Seconds. A full minute. The entire time his eyes never pried from hers, remaining impassive but pensive. Then at last, the short, detached response came.

"Pity."

Again, she silenced.

"Do not think this has granted ye safety, Miss Storms. If ye do, in fact, prove useless, yer fate will come to ye on its own-uh. Until then, ye are to make yerself useful by pullin' yer weight." With that, he was turning away and ascending the steps, followed closely by the two other crewmen.

It wasn't long before another crewman made his way down to the brig. He was huge with a face unrecognizable as human, and her cell was unlocked before a bucket and brush were being shoved into her front.

"You're to scrub the cannons," he stated shortly.

She didn't argue, deciding she'd rather be anywhere than rot in this godforsaken cell. If she had to stare at the wall and count barnacles for another minute, she'd surely go insane. Without a word, she followed him as he lead her out of the brig, and she was taken to the gun deck where cannons were lined in a row along both the starboard and port side of the deck. Such as it was with the rest of this accursed ship, every last one of them were encrusted with barnacles.

"Get to work, wench."

Her head had turned over her shoulder to send him a chilled glare, but he was already walking away, not so much as looking back. _Good riddance_. A grimace had scrunched her nose after turning to examine the cannon closest to her. It wasn't that she was particularly disgusted by barnacles and sea life, but that she knew it would take some hard scrubbing her skin raw to detach their concrete grip on the cannons. Her hands would be sporting fresh blisters by the day's end. Setting the bucket down, she got to work on the first one in the line. For the most part, she was able to work in relative silence; though, it wasn't long before the whispers started.

 _"So what ye reckon was she bein' kept on that ship fer?"_

 _"Seems pretty obvious what she was bein' kept fer if ye ask me. With legs like those..."_

 _"I ain't so sure. Ye see the way she basically threw Clanker out the door? An' poor Hadras..."_

It was hardly a sincere expression of sympathy. Darkened snickers emitted from the crowd, much to the displeasure of the named crewman.

 _"Well, if the cap'n's lookin' for her to be useful, I can think of a few ways that'd be more beneficial for us than scrubbin' some cannons..."_

 _"Aye! Like_ our _cannons!"_

This time the laughter was loud, unrestrained, and boorish, and her grip tightened around the brush. It wasn't until a hand had caught her wrist that she realized just how hard she had been scrubbing.

"Easy, lass, before ye scrub yer own skin off!"

She looked up to be faced with Clanker. "I'm fine." Pulling from his grip, she resumed scrubbing.

"They're just bein' men is all. Keep in mind they haven't seen a woman in decades. They don't mean no harm by it."

A blatant scoff was her only response.

"...Ye do this all by yerself?"

Again, she looked up at him, and then to where he was observing one of the cannons she had finished. If she didn't know better, she would have said he looked impressed.

"Well, lass, ye keep this up and ye might be lucky enough to only meet the cat o' nines on occasion."

 _On occasion._ "Spectacular."

He chuckled. "At least ye ain't stuck in the brig anymore."

"She slackin', Clanker?"

Both their heads lifted sharply at the gruff voice, and all it took was a single glance to the whip hung at his hip for Adelria to know exactly who he was. _So this is the bosun._ He was a mean-looking fellow, lacking a human appearance much like the rest of the crew. As a matter-of-fact, if she had to say he looked like anything it would be a rock fish. She had returned to her work as he came to a stop beside Clanker, the feeling of his eyes burning holes through her back causing her skin to prickle.

"Actually, sir, she's doin' a mighty fine job. Haven't seen the cannons this clean in a long time."

The bosun—Jimmylegs, was it?—didn't say anything in reply, and she could tell he had not removed his eyes from her, having come to loom over her ominously as she worked. Her face remained void of expression, playing it off like she didn't notice him, but it made it no less unnerving.

Then finally, he spoke, voice gruff as ever. "See to it that don't change, wench. Even I wouldn't want to ruin that pretty back o' yours."

His words triggered something within her, and before she could stop herself she was turning her head to look up at him, eyes darkened. He had been just turning away as she did this, but he had caught her eye and had doubled back, stepping up close to her.

"Ye got a problem, girl?" he growled.

Her teeth grit as she fought the anger bubbling within her gut, but a single, warning look from Clanker, who stood behind Jimmylegs, had her reluctantly biting her tongue.

"Not at the moment," she finally ground out.

Jimmylegs' eyes narrowed at her with scrutiny, as if he were deciding whether or not her answer was insolent enough for punishment. However, she was saved by a loud crash across the deck, watching as he straightened and turned sharply towards the disturbance where some poor soul lay amongst a pile of fallen crates.

"Ye lumbering bilgerat!" He stormed towards him, whip cracking as he ripped it from its perch.

Adelria could only stare in barefaced repulsion as the defenseless crewman released a cry of pain as the cat o' nines made sharp contact with his back. "Is that really necessary?" she mumbled.

"Yer lucky it wasn't _you_." Clanker turned back to her. "Ye have any idea how close 'e was to tearin' that pretty skin o' yours apart?"

"He wouldn't be the first. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself."

"Not against him ye can't. Ye gotta be smart to survive aboard the _Dutchman_ , lass."

She stood suddenly, turning to face him in full. "Had I joined this crew willingly, I would be obligated to bow down. However, I am not part of this crew. I am a prisoner, and never have I allowed a man to take advantage of me simply because he harbors the self-indulgent wish to break me. I'm not going to start now."

"It'll be yer funeral," he stated grimly.

"There are things worse than death."

"Flirtin' with the new meat, Clanker?"

Adelria looked to see the puffer fish man walking towards them, eyes fixated rigidly on her.

"How's the hand, whelp?" he sniggered.

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, this?" She held up her hand. "You're not the first _prick_ I've encountered."

Clanker's cavernous laughter boomed at his mate's dispense, and Adelria watched as his spiny cheek puffed outwards in anger. Had it been a different situation, she would have found the sight amusing. However, he did not appear to find it funny in the slightest, striding up to her aggressively. He wasn't as tall as the bosun, but he still stood a few inches taller than her, and at this proximity she could see her reflection in his bulgy eye as he glowered down at her.

"Least she's got spirit, aye, Koleniko?" Clanker laughed. "What fun 'ould she be otherwise?"

However, Koleniko was hardly amused. "Wench won't have spirit for long. The Dutchman'll break 'er soon enough."

Adelria rolled her eyes.

"What are you pantywaists standing around for?"

Oh, good. Another new voice. Turning, she was greeted with the sight of the hammerhead man walking towards them from the opposite end of the deck, cold, cerulean orbs landing on her with a visible sneer.

"Wench thinks she's funny," stated Koleniko sourly. "She also thinks she can stand around and do nothin', by the looks of it."

Adelria returned her eyes to him. "Until you interrupted, I was working. Unlike you."

This time, Clanker did not laugh, having silenced the moment he saw the hammerhead man approaching them. Now he just appeared nervous. Eyes narrowing in wonder, she turned around again, only to see he was standing a mere inch from her, staring down at her in anything but amusement. His presence instantly screamed dominance, standing a good head taller than she with eyes of chilled steel. A deep scowl was set upon his features, portraying the characteristic hammerhead frown with a fitting resemblance.

"We don't tolerate troublemakers aboard this vessel," he stated.

She held his gaze.

"Now get back to work." He went to turn away, but her voice stopped him.

"I saw you that night, and then this morning. You seem to always be at the captain's side." Her head tilted at his back. "The first mate, I presume?"

Slowly, he turned back to face her, mildly annoyed but face otherwise impassive. "I don't recall giving you permission to speak, wench."

Her head inclined a bit, eyebrows raising.

"You speak when spoken to. Understand?"

She said nothing, a bit stunned.

He stepped closer to her. "When your commanding officer asks you a question, you answer." Much like Jones, his tone was calm, but only a fool wouldn't be able to hear the threat that lurked within.

All Adelria could do at first was stare back at him in silence, teetering between disgust and anger. She had met many pompous men in her life, but this man—this _creature_ —held a superiority in his eyes that could rival the king's. It made her teeth grit. These monsters thought they knew her? Oh, how little they really knew. She was no damsel in distress, and she certainly was no slave.

"You are not my commanding officer." Her eyes remained locked with his. "I swore no oath to this ship. I was given no choice. Therefore, I do not have to answer to any of you."

Upper lip curving in a sneer, he stepped even closer, their faces now a mere inch apart, but she was holding her ground. "No?" His tone dared her to answer.

She leaned in. " _No_."

At this point, both Clanker and Koleniko had fallen utterly still, watching the exchange in a mixture of awe and disbelief. Koleniko merely appeared shocked at her boldness, while Clanker looked mildly horrified.

It happened within the blink of an eye, giving her no time to prepare a defense. She should have seen it coming, though. These monsters had no limits. No mercy. So when his hand had snagged her by the hair, she found herself being dragged along the deck, yelping at the pain that seared through her scalp. Before she was able to get a handle on herself, he had thrown her down the stairs leading to the main deck, where she landed in a clumsy, undignified heap on her chin. The entire crew had stopped to watch at this point, staring openly as she pushed herself onto her hands and knees, scalp and chin screaming.

 _"Wallop the bitch!"_

 _"Slam that pretty face into the boards!"_

She'd heard his footsteps before she saw him. Slowly, her head lifted to glare ahead, fire in her eyes. Before he so much as had a chance to reach for her again, she had spun about, swiping her leg clear under his, and she watched with satisfaction as he fell hard to the deck on his back with an audible grunt. She had seen the rage flash through his eyes like a lightning strike through frigid waters, but her reflexes were experienced, so when he made a swipe for her leg her foot had flown up for a kick to the face.

What she hadn't seen coming was for him to grab her ankle mid-kick, and she barely had time to widen her eyes before he was yanking her back towards him with such force that her hip bone experienced a sharp pain. Had he pulled any harder, he would have dislocated it completely. She was being flipped over before she could even begin to counterattack, and the next thing she knew he was on top of her, hand still holding her hair painfully hostage and pinning her head to the deck.

She hardly registered his fist raising high above his head; though, just as it was making the downward plunge that would have surely broken her nose, a tentacle-fingered hand was suddenly wrapping around his wrist, stopping him short.

Maccus' head had snapped over his shoulder in rage—only for the enraged snarl to disappear from his face like a snuff to a flame. In fact, the entire crew had fallen silent, the jeers having ceased completely.

"What be this-uh?" questioned Jones in a silky tone. His ocean blue eyes had shifted down to Adelria's face briefly, considering her widened stare with a fleeting disinterest.

He had released his hold on Maccus as he got off her, rising back to a stand and yanking her up with him by the arm. "Wench was refusing orders, sir," he answered gruffly. "Claims we have no business telling her what to do since she's not a part of the crew."

"Does she, now?" Once again, those cold, aqua blue eyes stopped on her. "Well, Miss Storms... if ye don't want to be a part of the crew, I can always arrange for ye to join yer captors in the Locker."

A few darkened sniggers reverberated from the crew at those words, and she shivered at the thought, but she said nothing just yet.

"Or better yet-uh... ye can just return to the brig-uh. Perhaps we can find a... _different_ use for ye if scrubbin' cannons isn't your forte."

More chuckles emitted from the others, growing increasingly excited at their captain's words. Even Maccus had allowed a sinister grin to show. Adelria's eyes had regained traces of their previous glare as she caught on to his meaning, and she felt anger rise within her once more.

"Does that idea displease ye?" asked Jones smoothly. "Because if it does, ye can shut yer belligerent trap and get back to swabbin'. Lucky for you-uh, I'm feeling mighty merciful today-uh. Next time, ye can be sure to meet the cat and lick yer wounds in the bowels of this ship naked-uh!"

Any retort she may have had died at those last words, lips sealing shut in spite of the disgusted rage boiling through her veins like fire. Jones' eyes had lost all humor at this point. He was being dead serious. She resisted the urge to lean back as he bent towards her, face a mere few inches from her own. At this proximity, she could make out every detail of his cursed face, every tiny scar; every outline of the suction cups lining the underneath of his tentacles. Like the rest of the crew, it was a grotesque but mesmerizing sight to behold.

"Have I been clear enough, Miss Storms-uh?" he asked.

Gritting her teeth, she managed a stiff "aye, sir".

"Good. Now get back to work-uh. Bosun! I want ye to keep a close eye on this one-uh."

The saw the boatswain all but wring his hands in eagerness at the order, dark eyes fixating on her like a cat eyeing a ball of string. She just glared back. With that, Jones had made his leave, crossing the deck back to his cabin once more. As the _thunk-thunk_ faded into the distance, she felt a cold hand grab her arm, putting up a small fight as Maccus all but dragged her back up the stairs to the gun deck, when he suddenly spun her to face him, never relenting his grip on her arm.

His lips pulled back in a distasteful sneer, pure hate radiating off his every being as he glowered down at her with a chilling composure she had never seen before from someone so angry. "Next time, I'll beat you into the floorboards so deep you'll be a part of this ship. You will not get special treatment because you're a woman. Pull this shit again, every man aboard this vessel will forget you're a woman, and I'll cut your tongue from your mouth myself! Now _swab_!" With that, with a cruel force she was thrown back down to her knees beside the bucket, and he was walking off without a single glance backwards.

Lifting her head, she glared after him with the ferocity of a tiger, but she had little time to stew in her rage before a sudden, loud _crack_ behind her was nearly making her jump from her skin.

"Get to work, swab! I won't be tellin' ye again!" snarled Jimmylegs.

Casting a withering look over her shoulder, she leaned over and picked up the discarded brush from the deck, rising into a more dignified stature before starting on another cannon. _They won this round,_ she thought silently while doing her best to ignore Jimmyleg's figure hovering above her, _but they won't break me._

* * *

 **I think we can start to get an idea who Adelria will be having tensions with in this chapter. Her character and past will unfold itself as the chapters come.**


End file.
